


Happy Hetalian Valentine's Day

by Hexcraft



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Multi, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:04:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1412650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexcraft/pseuds/Hexcraft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this for Valentine's Day 2013, so it's not current, but enjoy anyway!</p><p>First chapter is America and England, second chapter is France and Canada.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Unwrap and Enjoy

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Valentine's Day 2013, so it's not current, but enjoy anyway!
> 
> First chapter is America and England, second chapter is France and Canada.

Blue skies, singing birds, and melting piles of snow were just on the other side of the window. It was a beautiful day, but Alfred F. Jones, the human incarnation of the United States of America, wasn’t enjoying it the way he usually would. Instead, he’d barricaded himself in his house and was pacing through the various rooms, an expression somewhere between a scowl and a pout on his young face.  
It was Saint Valentine’s Day, and people all across his homeland were celebrating with flowers and chocolates and gifts to express love for each other. But the young nation was alone. He’d already called his lover, England, and asked him to spend the day together. Twenty minutes later, the Brit’s response still echoed in his thoughts.  
 _“No. I’m not going to celebrate some bloody holiday designed by gits who want to get laid. I have work to do, so please don’t disturb me again today, Alfred.”_  
His refusal had hurt, especially when he’d basically accused Alfred of only wanting sex. Was it so hard for Arthur to believe that Al genuinely wanted to spend time with him?  
Sighing heavily, the bespectacled nation dropped into an armchair and stared moodily out the window. So much for the romantic Valentine’s Day he’d been planning for the last two weeks. It was nothing too fancy, really, because he knew Arthur would have gotten flustered and embarrassed over anything extravagant, but he’d still wanted everything to be perfect. _Maybe_ they would have made love that night. Honestly, Al didn’t care if they did or not—all he wanted was to spend Valentine’s Day with the person he loved the most. He’d even gone to France for advice, most of which hadn’t been what Al had wanted to hear. Still, today was supposed to be special. It was downright depressing to be alone on Saint Valentine’s Day.  
 _I even have a lover and I’m stuck by myself._  
Well, maybe he could spend the day with someone else who didn’t have a valentine—there was no reason for two people to be lonely.  
Resigned to not seeing Arthur that day, the blond man fished his cell phone out of his pocket and hit speed-dial four. The phone rang a few times before it was answered.  
 _“Hello?”_  
The quiet voice made America smile. “Sup, Canadia?”  
 _“Oh, hi, Alfred. I’m going to France’s house. He just called and told me to come over right away.”_  
Man, even his overly shy brother had plans.  
“Is something wrong with him?”  
 _“I don’t know, he wouldn’t tell me anything. I have to go, America. I’m about to board my plane.”_  
Alfred sighed. “Whatever, dude. Catch ya later.” He hung up before the Canadian could respond. If his shy-as-hell brother was busy, then chances were that the American’s other friends were, too. He really was going to spend Valentine’s Day by himself.  
“Man, this is so lame.”  
No one answered, but that wasn’t a surprise because oh, yeah, he was _alone_ on _Valentine’s Day!_ His own boyfriend didn’t want to be with him, and his brother was busy elsewhere—though when the American thought about it, he decided France was probably seducing the quiet Canadian. The other nations were probably off celebrating with their partners and America was left with no one.  
It occurred to the blond that nothing was stopping him from going to England. Other than Arthur’s request that America not disturb him while he was working, of course. No matter how lonely Alfred got, he knew better than to bother the Brit while he was working. He was certainly never going to make _that_ mistake again. Having tea cups and books thrown at him wasn’t something he was eager to experience for a second time.  
Shuddering at the memory, Alfred curled up on the comfortable armchair and watched the world on the other side of the window. Clouds were beginning to gather, hiding large sections of the sky; it was probably going to rain or snow later.  
The longer he watched the clouds, the heavier America’s eyelids became, until he was sound asleep in the chair.

 _Ding-dong!_  
The ring of the doorbell startled Alfred awake and he nearly fell out of the chair. Who the heck was at his house unannounced on Valentine’s Day? He hoped it wasn’t someone coming to see him out of pity. Maybe Arthur had sent him flowers or something to make up for not being there!  
This thought sent the American running towards the front door of his house, nearly tripping over himself in his excitement. When he threw the door open, however, there was no bouquet of roses, no box of chocolates. What Alfred found on his door step made his jaw drop, his eyes widen, and his face turn a delicate shade of pink.  
“A- _Arthur?_ ”  
The personification of the United Kingdom—also known as Arthur Kirkland—was standing just outside Alfred’s front door. But that wasn’t why the American was staring. England had been turned into his Britannia Angel form and sported a bow and a quiver of arrows, as well as a red sash that read “Cupid.” Not only that, but the green-eyed nation was bound by a huge pink ribbon that wrapped around his legs, trapped his arms against his chest and even covered his mouth. It was tied into a large bow over his chest. He was clearly unable to move, and the fury in his eyes almost intimidated the American. England was attempting to speak but couldn’t due to the silk over his mouth, though it was definitely something vulgar. Then something else caught Alfred’s attention.  
Ignoring the muffled words of his lover, the bespectacled nation took a small note card from where it had been tucked into the ribbon. One side read “Handle with Care.” The other side had “Unwrap and Enjoy!” written on it, along with an elegant signature that America recognized as France’s.  
 _Uh oh…_  
For some reason, the “handle with care” warning seemed like the more important message. England was _livid. ___  
But he couldn’t just leave him like that, especially with how dark the sky had gotten and the cold wind that was probably going right through the fabric of England’s white toga. So Alfred quickly swept the Englishman into his arms and carried him into the house, kicking the door shut behind them. Arthur protested and squirmed all the way to the living room, though it didn’t do him much good. Gently, Al set his lover on his sandaled feet and faced him.  
“I know you’re mad, Artie, and I’ll untie you in a sec, but first you gotta promise not to freak out on me ‘cause I totally didn’t plan this. So you can be mad, just not at me, okay?” He waited until the glaring Brit rolled his eyes and nodded before he untied the bow and quickly pulled the ribbon off his lover.  
Free of the bindings, Arthur violently threw the quiver of arrows, bow, and Cupid sash to the floor. He was muttering under his breath, something about killing France the next time he saw “that bloody frog.”  
“Um, Artie?” Alfred’s tone was unusually timid.  
“What?”  
The American offered a hopeful smile. “Since you’re already here, will you celebrate Valentine’s Day with me?”  
England sighed and made the same irritated, exasperated face Alfred remembered from his childhood. That face usually meant he’d done something wrong.  
“No. I have work to do, and I already told you, I won’t celebrate some commercialized holiday everyone claims is about love when really it’s about sex. Besides, I’ve already been kidnapped, drugged, forced into my angel form and delivered to your doorstep. I’m really not in the mood to celebrate anything.”  
“Oh.” Alfred’s tone was meek as he looked down at his sock-covered feet. “Okay.”  
He didn’t lift his gaze when Arthur launched into a rant about work and France and date-rape drugs and how Valentine’s Day was a useless holiday. The longer he talked the more vehement he became, until he was pacing the room and practically shouting, his wings fluttering in agitation. He became so focused on his rant that he didn’t even notice when his subdued lover left the room and returned a minute later.  
Alfred cleared his throat. “Arthur.”  
“What’s the bloody point of giving chocolates or flowers? Why make a bloody holiday for it? If you love someone, don’t be a git about it! You shouldn’t need a holiday just to show how much you love someone! Show the wanker every chance you get!”  
“Arthur!”  
“ _What?_ ”  
Falling silent, Alfred held up a stuffed light green bunny with fluffy white wings. It was holding a heart that was patterned as the American flag, but the square where the stars would have been was replaced with England’s flag. Al offered a single red rose as well, his cheeks tinged pink and his eyes glued to the floor.  
“I-I know you think Valentine’s Day is just a stupid holiday for people to have sex, but that isn’t what I want. You were my mentor, my best friend, and my worst enemy. Now, you’re my lover, and I want to spend Saint Valentine’s Day with you. To me, that doesn’t mean sex. We can watch sappy movies and eat chocolates and have a romantic dinner, whatever you want. Just, please take these, and don’t be angry anymore.”  
It was quiet for a moment as Arthur stared at the blushing nation. He often forgot how sensitive the American was, since he was usually so cheerful and fearless. Now, he seemed like a child again, presenting the hand-made Valentine’s card he’d given Arthur the first time he’d celebrated the holiday. Just like that, the Englishman found that he couldn’t even pretend to be angry, and he accepted the flower and bunny without a word. America smiled.  
“Will you stay? Please?”  
Bloody hell, could those eyes get any bluer?  
“I suppose it won’t kill me if I don’t go home until tomorrow.” He was careful to only smile a little at the younger nation’s triumphant cheers, and nuzzled into the American’s strong chest when he was wrapped in a tight hug.  
“Thank you,” Al whispered, overjoyed that he wasn’t going to spend Valentine’s Day alone.  
“Yeah, yeah. Let go of me, wanker,” Arthur demanded playfully. “We’ve got sappy movies that need watching.”  
“I picked out all your favorites!” the taller nation chirped, obviously proud of himself. “And I have tea we can make.”  
“Sounds lovely, Al.” He placed a soft kiss on the American’s cheek. “Sorry about being such a git.”  
“It’s okay, we still have plenty of time to do everything I planned!” Without bothering to ask for permission, Alfred scooped up his petite lover and carried the smaller man down the hall to the den. He’d prepared the room just for this, though it wasn’t strewn with flower petals or lit only by candles or anything like that. Instead, the couch was centered in front of the flat-screen TV with the footrest in place, the curtains were drawn to enhance the movie viewing experience, pillows and blankets were ready for use, and a stack of DVD’s sat by the TV. England smiled.  
“It’s great, Al. I just have one question.”  
“What?”  
The green-eyed nation tugged at the bottom hem of his toga, self-conscious about how much skin he was showing. “Can I borrow some pants?”

Yawning, Arthur sat up and stretched as his stomach growled hungrily. For the last six or so hours, he’d been curled up on the couch with his American lover as they cuddled and watched sappy, romantic movies. The couch had been turned into a nest of pillows and blankets with the two nations right in the middle. Arthur had loved every minute of it, but now his stomach was demanding that he eat something other than popcorn and chocolate.  
“Oi, what’s for dinner?”  
A wide grin stretched over Al’s face. “You’ll see. Just let me get everything ready, and we’ll eat. It’ll only take a few minutes, promise.”  
“I believe you.” The Brit placed a soft kiss on his lover’s cheek. “Now go—I’m starving.”  
Chuckling, Alfred pushed his muscular frame off the couch and left the den, heading towards the kitchen. He’d spent time over the last two weeks practicing his cooking skills so that the food would be perfect, and had set up a small table for two in the dining room. A vase of flowers and candles sat on the linen-covered table, along with the finest china and silver Al possessed. All he needed to do was light the candles and put the food out, which only took about five minutes. When the table was ready, the blue-eyed nation bounded up the stairs to his room to change.  
“Alfred, is dinner ready yet?” England called from the den, impatient. His stomach’s noises were getting progressively louder.  
Smiling, the American in question appeared in the doorway, dressed in a suit and tie. Feeling underdressed in only his toga and a borrowed pair of Alfred’s pajama pants, Arthur raised an eyebrow in question. The bespectacled nation bowed, offering his arm.  
“Shall we?”  
England rolled his eyes but accepted, and the couple went to the dining room together. The shorter nation gasped quietly upon entering the room, surprised but pleased at what Alfred had done.  
“Al, you didn’t have to do all this. I’d have been happy with a regular dinner.”  
“I know, but it’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted it to be special.”  
Unexpectedly, the Brit pulled his tall lover into a gentle kiss. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this holiday isn’t so worthless,” he whispered, looking into the American’s blue eyes. He could tell how happy it made him to hear that.  
“I love you, Artie.”  
“And I love you, you miserable git.”  
Al chuckled then kissed the other nation before pulling a chair out for him.  
“Well, at least you remember _some_ of the manners I taught you,” Arthur teased as he sat and Al pushed his chair in for him. The American quickly occupied his own seat across the small table.  
“I remember a lot of what you taught me, Artie.” His tone took on a flirtatious edge. “And not just about table manners.”  
Arthur scowled at those innocent blue eyes as he placed his napkin in his lap. “I certainly didn’t teach you to talk like that at dinner.”  
An impish grin replaced Alfred’s innocent expression. “Are you going to punish me for it later?”  
Blushing darkly, England took a sip of wine so he wouldn’t have to see the smirk he knew was on Alfred’s face. “I hardly think a grown man like you should require punishment for poor table manners.”  
“Even if the one doing the punishing is my lover?”  
“Judging by your tone, I’d say you think this ‘punishment’ will be more like a reward.”  
Lowering his gaze, Alfred looked at the other man through his eyelashes. “Only if Master Arthur wants it to be.”  
“You’re a git, Alfred. Now shut up and eat.”  
“Yes, Master Arthur.”  
Arthur wondered if it would it ruin the mood if he strangled the American and left his body at the table to rot.  
Probably. 

___“That’s it, I’m full. I can’t eat another bite,” the Englishman announced, leaning back in his chair and patting his slightly distended belly._  
“Just one more chocolate,” Alfred wheedled. He’d eaten a lot more than the petite nation, but no one would have been surprised to hear that. All the food he’d prepared was gone save for the last piece of chocolate.  
Sighing, Arthur opened his mouth and allowed the candy to be fed to him. His stomach was full of steak, sautéed green beans, sweet wine and chocolate, and he was feeling more than satisfied with the meal. He watched as Alfred began gathering up the dirty china and blew out the candles.  
Silent, the green-eyed nation stood and gripped Alfred’s hand, pulling the younger nation away from the table. Normally, Arthur would insist that the dishes be taken care of right away, but not this time. Curious as to what his lover was thinking, the American let himself be led upstairs. When they went into his bedroom, he realized that the older nation was probably tired, and smiled at the thought of falling asleep with the petite man in his arms.  
Turning away from the shorter nation, he kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie in order to change into his pajamas. Suddenly, he found himself lying on his back on the bed with a now pants-less Arthur straddling his waist.  
“Artie?”  
“Hush.” A gentle but firm kiss was placed on his lips. “You’ve been spoiling me all day. It’s my turn to spoil you.” As if to make his point, the Brit pressed his hips down on Alfred’s slightly; the American’s eyes widened and he held back the quiet moan his lover’s action caused.  
“But, I thought you didn’t want to…?”  
“I didn’t want to play along with the commercialism of this holiday. I have no problem with making love to my boyfriend, regardless of what day it is. And after how wonderful today was—aside from being kidnapped by France—I definitely think my wonderful boyfriend has earned a bit of love.”  
A light blush colored Alfred’s cheeks. “I wasn’t trying to earn anything. I just wanted you to have a happy Valentine’s Day.”  
“I know. Now, please, be quiet, and let me make love with you.”  
Good lord. He _had_ to know how completely irresistible he sounded when he talked like that.  
“Yes, Master Arthur.”  
England smirked at the title, fingers playing with the buttons on Al’s shirt. “I haven’t forgotten your poor manners at the beginning of dinner, my pet. You should know better than to tease your master.” One by one, he opened the buttons to reveal the sun-kissed skin that stretched over the American’s strong chest.  
Fascinated by what was being done to his clothes, Al almost didn’t realize that Arthur was waiting for a response. “I’m very sorry for my behavior, Master. Can you forgive me?”  
Soft lips brushed against his collarbone and he heard Arthur chuckle.  
“I could, but you’re not getting off the hook that easily, love.” Arthur’s wings fluttered and he rose a few inches above Alfred’s body, pale hands pinning the taller man’s hips as he kissed down the tanned chest; his hands and lips were the only points where he touched the younger nation.  
“Artie,” the sandy blond whined, grabbing onto the older man’s toga and trying to pull his body back down to press against his own without success. “You’re teasing…”  
“You better bloody believe I’m teasing.”  
The green-eyed nation bit down on his lover’s chest, earning a surprised moan as the man lying below him arched. His tongue darted out and he licked the bite mark he’d made, soothing away any lingering pain. It was lovely to watch Alfred shudder, and he quickly switched his attention to the man’s newly exposed nipples, attacking one with his mouth while his fingers played with the other. He bit gently, tugging, licking and sucking, his fingers pinching and rubbing and twisting as Alfred’s breathing grew ragged and he whined desperately. A smirk curved England’s lips and he sent his free hand sliding down the muscled plane of Alfred’s stomach until he found the American’s belt. Faster than Alfred thought was possible, his belt was unbuckled and his trousers unbuttoned; his English lover abandoned the sensitive nubs on his chest and instead kissed downwards, tugging his trousers and boxers off as he moved.  
Cold air on his erection made Alfred gasp and shiver. “A-Arthur…please…no more games…”  
“Tsk, tsk, my love. You must learn to be patient. We wouldn’t want to have to prolong your punishment.” Slowly, so goddamn slowly, he slid the American’s member into his mouth and sucked gently, still pinning his hips. His mouth was hot and moist, forcing a loud groan from the younger nation.  
“Ah! Nng…A-Artie!”  
“Louder.” His teeth dragged over the sensitive flesh, pulling a strangled moan from the blue-eyed man.  
“Arthur! Oh, God, _Arthur!_ ”  
Hearing his name being called in such a way made the Briton’s own arousal grow, and he sucked harder on Alfred’s erection, slowly bobbing his head. His skillful tongue was put to full use, wrapping around the length, rubbing the underside, flicking the tip, each movement driving more and more delicious sounds from the bespectacled nation. The younger man was trembling and tense, his fingers clutching at the blankets beneath him as his hips writhed and his toes curled.  
“P-please, Artie! S-s-stop! I’m going to—!” Before he could get the rest of the words out, the Briton bit him, gently, and hummed deep in his throat. “ _Ahhh!_ ”  
Just like that, Alfred’s hips bucked upwards and he climaxed, releasing his seed into England’s torturous mouth. The golden blond pulled away and swallowed thickly, licking at the few drops that escaped onto his chin. America was panting heavily, looking up at his lover through dazed blue eyes.  
“I hope you aren’t tired already, love,” Arthur purred, using Alfred’s tie to pull him into a kiss. His tongue pressed against America’s lips, seeking entrance, and the younger country quickly obliged, opening his mouth and moaning when England’s tongue slipped inside to rub against his own. The kiss lasted for several minutes while Arthur removed what was left of his lover’s clothing; he only broke it to pull his toga off over his head, stretching sensually as he did so.  
“Arthur…”  
“Hm?” Smiling innocently, England carefully settled in Alfred’s lap and nuzzled his cheek, his hands resting on the toned chest.  
Strong arms wrapped around the Brit’s slender waist. “Are you finished with my punishment, Master?”  
Arthur playfully licked the American’s ear and picked up one of his hands. “What do you think?”  
Just as Alfred opened his mouth to respond, Arthur slipped three of his lover’s fingers into his mouth and sucked vigorously. Rather than forming words, the bespectacled nation’s mouth went lax and he moaned softly, shifting beneath the Brit in order to create friction between them.  
Smirking around the fingers, England began to grind his hips against the younger man’s, moaning softly as he did so.  
Alfred’s groans were louder than the Brit’s, his eyes locked on the mouth that was treating his fingers like lollipops while his neglected hand reached around the petite nation and stroked one of his wings. Arthur’s eyes widened and he bucked his hips against the larger nation’s, lightly biting America’s fingers to hold back a moan. The reaction made Alfred smirk, and he continued stroking and gently squeezing the wing, watching as his British lover’s actions grew gradually less controlled.  
For several minutes, Arthur paid special attention to those fingers, licking them up and down, making sure to coat each one with a layer of saliva, all the while fighting his body’s reaction to what Al was doing to his wing so that he wouldn’t climax too early. But his eyes never looked away from Alfred’s. After what America thought was an eternity, the Brit released his fingers with an audible _pop,_ then rose up on his knees. Alfred caught on quickly and slipped his hand between his green-eyed lover’s thighs, stroking and rubbing his entrance.  
“Ahn…Aaaaaal,” Arthur moaned, wriggling at the sensation, wanting desperately for Alfred to go farther. His nails dug into the American’s shoulders slightly. “More!”  
Obligingly, Alfred gently inserted a finger, making the Englishman arch and gasp. It was quickly followed by a second finger, and Al scissored and pumped, stretching the smaller man as cries of pleasure and a little bit of pain filled his ears. Arthur pushed his hips down, trying to get the American’s fingers to go deeper as he buried his face in Al’s tan neck. After a few minutes of this, when Alfred thought Arthur could take it, he added his third slicked finger and twisted.  
“Alfred!”  
The sandy blond smiled and repeated the action, his fingers brushing against the bundle of nerves that made Arthur buck his hips and all but scream his name. He hit that spot a few more times before removing his fingers, and Arthur whimpered at the loss, lust-filled eyes staring at America as he pressed close in a needy way. Smiling, Alfred kissed the man straddling him. He moaned against Arthur’s lips as their tongues wrestled, impatient to finally be inside Arthur’s body. But he had to keep in control of himself, otherwise he might get too rough, and he didn’t want that.  
“Ready?” he asked his lover, tenderly brushing the Brit’s sweat-darkened bangs out of his eyes as he guided the shorter man over his length, which was lubricated with Arthur's saliva from the blow-job he'd given the American.  
“I’ve been ready for this since you gave me that bunny, Alfred.”  
The American chuckled and kissed him again, slipping his tongue into Arthur’s welcoming mouth as he brought the Englishman’s delicate hips down onto himself; they moaned together at the pleasurable pressure and warmth. Slowly at first, Arthur began to move, his wings flapping to help him lift up before pushing back down. His arms wrapped around Alfred’s neck as his pace gradually increased, and he bit the younger nation’s ear, moaning his name over and over. Both men were gasping, clinging to each other. Every breath was a sound of pleasure, a plea for more.  
“A-Alfred…please…t-touch me…” Arthur begged, pressing his forehead to the American’s and looking straight into his blue eyes.  
“Where?”  
“You kn-know where, you g-git!”  
Chuckling breathlessly, Alfred slipped one hand between their bodies and found the Brit’s neglected sex, stroking the length in time with Arthur’s movements—the older man’s volume increased as he moaned. Alfred’s other hand reached behind his lover and gently stroked one of his wings.  
A shudder worked its way down Arthur’s spine and he bucked weakly. “More…!”  
The hand on his erection tightened and pumped faster, making the Brit increase his pace. Because Arthur’s wings were flapping to help him move, Alfred chose a different sensitive area to play with to help his lover achieve his climax. Gently gripping the golden blond’s chin, Alfred flicked his tongue out and licked along one of Arthur’s eyebrows. Arthur shouted and bucked, his nails dragging down Alfred’s back and making the American arch into his lover—the increase in friction made them both moan.  
Pulling his chin free of Alfred’s grip, Arthur pressed closer and bit the American’s neck, sucking on the skin and tugging with his teeth. It was definitely going to form a bruise, which was exactly what the Englishman wanted.  
“Arthur…ahng…” The hand Alfred had on his lover’s erection moved faster, twisting slightly as it traveled up and down the shaft; he ran his thumb over the slit at the tip, making the older nation shudder and groan.  
“S-so close, Alfred!”  
Wings flapping vigorously and his nails cutting into Alfred’s shoulders, Arthur moved as fast as he dared, slamming back down onto his lover’s erection with enough force to bruise his rear end. They could both feel their climaxes quickly growing closer; they panted heavily, desperately touching every part of each other that they could reach in attempts to increase their pleasure.  
Finally, Arthur lifted his hand and pinched the little hair on Alfred’s head called Nantucket, tugging gently. With a hoarse shout, Alfred roughly bucked his hips up against his lover, releasing deep inside the older nation. The deeper penetration was enough to drag England over the edge and he came, his seed making a sticky mess on his and Alfred’s stomachs. He kept moving, riding out his climax and extending America’s orgasm as well, his hands tangled in Al’s sandy blond hair as he kissed him deeply, their tongues entangled.  
When at last the two nations collapsed, Arthur lay limply on Alfred’s chest as both men gasped for breath, drenched in sweat. They trembled from the exertion of sex, exhausted but sated and smiling weakly. It took a few minutes for Arthur to gather what little strength he had left, which he used to lift himself off Alfred’s now soft member before he snuggled into his lover’s side. Absentmindedly, the American stroked the smaller nation’s back for several long moments before he realized that Arthur’s wings were gone.  
“Artie…you’re not Britannia Angel anymore…”  
Arthur laughed tiredly. “Good. I don’t know how France managed to get me to change, but I’m glad to be back to normal.”  
“Me, too…although the wings are pretty useful…”  
A blush colored Arthur’s cheeks. “I don’t get tired as fast if I have them.”  
“And you get horny if I touch them,” Alfred teased, which earned him a somewhat gentle elbow in the ribs from his green-eyed lover. It was probably intended to hurt, but both nations were too tired to care.  
Sighing happily, Alfred pulled Arthur closer and kissed the top of his head. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Artie. I love you.”  
“Happy Valentine’s Day, love.” 


	2. You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After making sure that Alfred and Arthur are taken care of for Valentine's Day, Francis puts another important plan into action.

Worry gnawing at him, Canada hurried up the stone path to the front door of the familiar ornate house. Something had to be really wrong; usually, France was very polite and friendly, but he’d sounded anxious and even a little panicked over the phone. It upset the shy Canadian a great deal to think there was something wrong with his France.  
 _No,_ he scolded himself. _He’s not “your France.” He’s just France._  
Canada reached for the door handle then paused. He should probably knock rather than just going into France’s house, but impatience made him want to go in straight away. His manners won out after a few moments of deliberation and he knocked quietly.  
There was no answer. No song-like “Coming!” or cheery “ _Un instant, s'il vous plaît!_ ” Canada didn’t like it. Other countries thought he was too quiet, but France somehow always heard him, and he _always_ answered right away when the quiet nation visited.  
Canada knocked again with a little more force just to be safe, but still didn’t receive a response.  
 _Oh, what if he’s hurt and can’t get to the door? What if he’s unconscious?!_  
Abandoning his dedication to manners, Canada opened the front door and stepped into the house; he froze.  
 _What is…?_  
This was not what he’d been expecting. The urgent phone call to come over had made him fear the worst, maybe a mess, broken glass or something like that. Not dimmed lights and candles, not a…trail of rose petals? Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised—it was France’s house, after all—but he was definitely confused. What on earth was going on?  
“France?” the quiet nation called timidly, cautiously following the trail. It led him through the house, and what he saw of it was decorated much the same as the entryway. The trail eventually brought him to a door that Canada knew fairly well. This was the door to the guest room he used whenever he stayed at the older country’s house.  
His curiosity growing, Canada went into the room to find it strewn with rose petals. Candles glowed on nearly every surface, and roses were elegantly placed about the room. It was all very romantic, and the blond wondered again what was going on. Was France playing a prank on him? He didn’t think so—the older man thought pranks were juvenile and certainly would never waste roses on one.  
 _It’s so…romantic. Did he do all of this just for me? Does he…like me?_  
Hope blossomed in his chest, making him even more eager to locate the older nation.  
“France, where are you?” he called again, louder this time. “What’s going on?”  
Again, his questions went unanswered.  
A pile of fabric on the bed caught the Canadian’s eye and he moved closer to investigate. It was red silk with gold embroidery, and there was an array of intricate-looking gold jewelry beside it. On top of the pile was a note written in France’s elegant script.  
“ _Bonsoir, ma beau Mathieu. You seem rather under-dressed, but never fear. I have provided for you the proper attire for this evening. Please dress yourself then join me. Je me réjouis de votre arrivée._ ”  
Under-dressed? Proper attire? What was _that_ supposed to mean?  
 _Is there something wrong with my clothes?_  
Mathew looked at the pile of fabric, hesitant. He didn’t want to upset or disappoint France, but he was nervous about the idea of changing. His hoody was comfortable and familiar—he would feel exposed without it. Still, it was for France…  
Nervous, the blond kicked off his tennis shoes then slowly removed his socks, jeans, hoody and T-shirt, folding them neatly and placing them on the bed. It wasn’t that bad, being almost naked, but he still hurried to don the clothes that had been provided, if you could call them that. It was more like two small blankets wrapped around his body, and left a lot more skin showing than he was comfortable with. Most of his chest and back were bare, along with his left shoulder and arm, and his ankles and feet were visible. The shape of his boxers was visible beneath the silk around his waist, so he reluctantly took those off, too. Despite his embarrassment, he had to admit that the silk felt nice, and once he put on the jewelry, he actually began to like the outfit. But he still wasn’t so sure about leaving the guest room dressed the way he was—he much preferred his normal clothes.  
Now “properly dressed,” Canada picked up the note once more.  
 _“Please dress yourself then join me.”_  
Join him _where?_ The trail of petals had led him to the guest room, but he had no idea where he was meant to go next.  
 _Maybe I’m supposed to go to his room._  
It was worth a shot, so, feeling rather exposed in his new clothes, Canada went back into the hall to find that a new flower trail had been created. His face reddened when he realized that France had been right outside the door while he’d been changing, and he’d had no idea. Once again, he wondered what all this was about, and his curiosity followed the trail straight to the door of France’s bedroom.  
Canada knocked hesitantly. “France?”  
“Come in,” a familiar voice called; relief washed over the blond. It didn’t sound like the older nation was in trouble, though he wouldn’t have done all this if he was hurt.  
Smiling shyly, the blond opened the door and entered the bedroom. “What’s going on? Why did you call me?”  
There was no answer, and Canada cautiously moved farther into the bedroom. It was decorated much the way the guest room had been, but more extravagantly. The curtains were drawn over the large windows, and there was a reclining couch with a small table beside it, one that he’d never seen before. On the table was a single lit candle, a vase of roses, a bottle of wine and a crystal glass, and two bowls, one of chocolates, the other filled with pieces of various fruits. As he moved closer to inspect the table’s contents, the door shut behind him and the lock clicked.  
Heart thundering, Canada whirled around to see France standing by the door with a small smile on his elegant features.  
Canada blushed as he took in the older nation’s clothes. “Uh, France, what are you doing? Why are you dressed like that?” The Frenchman wore black dress pants and shoes with a white half-apron around his waist. Black gloves covered his hands and he wore a black bowtie. He was also shirtless, thus why Canada was blushing.  
The older nation chuckled. “’ow many times must I tell you, _ma beau Mathieu,_ zhat I would prefer for you to call me by my proper name?”  
Mathew blushed even more. He loved that the romantic nation wanted him to use his human name, but manners demanded he call him by his title. “Sorry, Francis. Could you please tell me what’s going on?”  
“All will be explained in due time, _ma beau._ Please, won’t you sit?” Still smiling, Francis moved to stand by the table and gestured towards the couch.  
His heart still beating much faster than normal, Mathew sat on the couch and looked up at France. He wanted an explanation for the phone call and everything that had happened since his arrival at the house, but he didn’t ask again. If France said he would explain, then he would.  
“It would be more comfortable to lie down, no?” Without giving the Canadian a chance to respond, he picked up Mathew’s feet and put them on the couch, causing him to all but fall over. Then, ignoring Mathew’s blush and protests, he arranged the younger nation’s limbs so that he was lounging, the red silk draping over him nicely.  
France nodded and smiled again, pleased with himself. “Much better.”  
“Please, tell me what’s going on.” Canada’s voice was even quieter than usual. “Why did you sound so upset over the phone?”  
Ignoring the question, France focused on the bottle of wine he was opening. The cork came loose with a small _pop,_ and he poured the bottle’s contents into the wine glass. With a flourish, he set down the bottle and offered the glass to Canada, gracefully dropping onto one knee so that the two nations were nearly face-to-face.  
Finding himself suddenly so close to the older nation made Mathew’s whole body feel warm and he lowered his gaze, blushing darkly. Shy, he accepted the glass and sipped the wine—it was lovely, just the right age and flavor, though that wasn’t surprising. France was a wine connoisseur, after all, and always offered his guests the best he had. Canada took another sip before he dared to meet the older man’s eyes again, and blinked in mild surprise. France was holding the bowl of chocolates in one hand and, in the other, he held up a single piece of the sweet food between two gloved fingers.  
“Thank you,” the younger man mumbled, reaching for the chocolate.  
France smiled and pulled the treat away. “Ah, ah, ah, _ma beau._ Open wide.”  
A dark blush heated Canada’s face, ears and neck, but he did as he was told and allowed France to feed him the chocolate. He chewed slowly, looking away again. The process was repeated a few times, neither nation speaking.  
“Zhis color suits you.” France’s gloved hand touched the red silk of Canada’s clothing as the younger nation took a drink of wine. He sounded a bit odd, not as cheerful as normal, and Mathew gathered his courage.  
“Francis,” he began, touching the older nation’s hand shyly, “please, tell me what’s wrong.”  
Smiling gently, France lifted the shy man’s hand and kissed the pale knuckles. “Nozhing, _mon cher Mathieu._ Nozhing you need be concerned about.”  
“But you said it was an emergency, and you sounded upset.”  
Another kiss, this time on his fingertips; his skin tingled where France’s lips touched.  
“ _Oui,_ but you are ‘ere now, so zhe emergency ‘as been taken care of.”  
Canada gave him a confused frown. “What was the emergency, if all I had to do was come over?”  
 _Did he just want to see me?_  
The older nation reached out and smoothed the frown lines from the younger’s face then stroked his cheek. “Do you not know what today is?”  
Today?  
“Thursday?”  
“What month?” France coaxed, his thumb brushing over Mathew’s pale cheek.  
“February.”  
“ _Oui._ What is zhe date, _Mathieu?_ ”  
“February fourteenth, 2013.” Canada’s eyes widened the moment the words left his mouth. “Oh! It’s Valentine’s Day!”  
How could he have forgotten? It was a popular holiday for most of the world, including his own territory, so he should have remembered. Embarrassed by his forgetfulness, the blond lowered his gaze in order to hide the light blush on his cheeks. No wonder France had sounded upset earlier—he must have realized that the Canadian was going to spend Valentine’s Day on his own, and of course, the Nation of Romance couldn’t let that happen. Mathew felt foolish for even daring to hope that perhaps the older man loved him, or even liked him as more than a friend.  
Gentle fingers lifted his chin, and Mathew found himself mere inches away from France’s face; his blush darkened by several shades.  
“Is somezhing wrong, _mon amour_?”  
Canada’s heart fluttered at the word. “N-no…”  
A small smile lifted the corners of the older nation’s mouth, making it obvious that he didn’t believe him. “You look troubled.”  
 _Mon Dieu…stop looking at me like that…stop making me feel special…_  
“R-really, it’s nothing.”  
The smile faded and a sad light came into France’s blue eyes. “I see.” He set down the bowl of chocolates and took off one of his gloves, revealing his elegantly slim fingers, then picked up the bowl of fruit and offered Canada a strawberry. The younger nation obediently opened his mouth and ate the fruit that was presented to him, though his thoughts were miles away from the food.  
 _Why is he sad all of a sudden? Did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to upset him…but he’s always so sweet to me. It makes me feel like I’m important to him when I know I’m not. He’s like this with everyone. I shouldn’t let it get to me._  
But it did. It always did.  
“Canada.”  
“Yes?” Since when was he “Canada” and not “ _Mathieu_ ”? It was strange to hear France call him by his nation, and he didn’t like it one bit.  
Setting down the bowl, France lightly placed his hands on the younger nation’s cheeks and looked him in the eyes. “Tell me somezhing, _oui?_ ”  
Mathew blinked. “Of course, Francis.”  
The older man smiled to hear his name. “Do you love someone?”  
Panic.  
 _Does he know? No, he can’t. I’ve never said or done anything to make him think I love him. There’s no way he knows._  
“What do you mean?” the young nation hedged, electrically aware that France was slowly leaning closer to him. Part of him—the painfully shy part—wanted to lean away, to put distance between himself and the older man, but he couldn’t. Not when the rest of him wanted to be so much closer.  
“’ave you ever been in love?”  
“U-um…well…yes. At least, I think so.”  
Francis’ gentle smile returned. “What makes you zhink so?”  
 _His smile is so beautiful…no! Look away or he’ll know! He’ll see!_  
But he couldn’t look away, couldn’t turn from those mesmerizing pools of blue. “W-when I’m with”— _you_ —“that person, my h-heart beats faster, and I feel w-warm. All I-I want is to be close to”— _you_ —“them, and e-every time”— _you_ —“they smile at me, it feels like I’m the l-luckiest person in the world. When I’m sad, just thinking of”— _you_ —“them makes me feel b-better.”   
He couldn’t even talk, he was so nervous! Why did being this close to Francis always make him so damn nervous?!  
“Zhat sounds like love to me, _mon cher Mathieu._ Does zhis person know ‘ow you feel?” When he spoke, he was so close that Mathew could feel his breath on his face, warm and smelling pleasantly of wine.  
“ _A-aucun…_ ”  
“Why ‘ave you not told zhem?”  
“Because… _ils ne m'aimait pas._ ”  
Francis chuckled, blue eyes hidden behind his eyelids for a few seconds. “And ‘ow do you know zhat?”  
“B-because you don’t act like you do!” Canada froze, his eyes widening farther than he’d thought possible as his face drained of color. His mouth hung open as his brain tried desperately to come up with a way to take back what he’d just said, but he couldn’t think of anything. He couldn’t think at all, his mind repeating the same word over and over again.  
 _No…no...no…no…no!_  
France was still looking at him, still smiling, waiting for him to say something more. When the younger nation failed to speak, he leaned forward and put his lips by Mathew’s ear.  
“ _Je t'aime aussi, ma beau Mathieu._ ”  
Mathew blinked, stunned.  
 _Did he just say…he loves me?_  
Before another second could pass, he threw his arms around Francis’ neck and hugged him tightly, tears coming to his eyes. It should be impossible to feel this happy, but he was glad it wasn’t. He wanted to feel this happy every day, every moment, for the rest of his life. And he could, as long as what France had just said was true.  
Slender but strong arms wrapped around the Canadian’s waist as soft kisses were placed on his cheeks and nose. He drew himself closer to the older nation, not caring that he’d made a fool of himself, that he was practically naked in the red silk or that France was shirtless. Their eyes met for a brief moment before Mathew pressed his lips against France’s, blushing darkly as he did so. For years, he’d wanted to do just that, but never had the courage. He wasn’t about to miss his chance when it came.  
“ _Mathieu…_ ” France sighed, returning the kiss, his arms moving to lift the younger man off the couch. Canada squeaked, surprised, then blushed in embarrassment as he was carried the few feet to the bed and gently placed on the silken bedcovers.  
Suddenly nervous, Mathew looked up at the older man as France kicked off his shoes.  
“F-Francis?” he whispered, fiddling with the hem of the silk he wore.  
“ _Oui, mon amour?_ ” The Frenchman smiled at his young lover as he removed the half-apron and tossed it onto the couch, his remaining glove soon following.  
“What…um, what are you going to do?” He was embarrassed at having to ask.  
“Do, my love?” Dropping kisses on Canada’s face and neck, Francis moved onto the bed and held himself over the younger man, his hands braced to either side of the slim nation. Mathew struggled to form the words, distracted by the feeling of France’s lips on his neck, then his collarbone. He squirmed when he felt a warm tongue flick against his skin, blushing all over again.  
“Francis…”  
The named nation chuckled and looked into Mathew’s eyes. “ _Oui?_ ”  
“I-I want to make love with you,” Canada mumbled shyly, gazing up at France through his eyelashes, “if that’s all right.”  
Nodding, Francis leaned down and kissed the younger man, his tongue roving over the soft lips in search of entrance. “Yes. It will always be all right, _ma beau Mathieu._ It is more zhan all right. Zhere is nozhing I would like to do wizh you more.” His words brought a smile to the shy nation’s lips and he parted them, allowing France access to his mouth.  
Both men moaned as Francis slipped his tongue into the warm cavern, exploring gently but thoroughly, memorizing every corner, taking in the faint taste of maple syrup. His tongue rubbed against Mathew’s, coaxing him to participate, drawing the appendage into his own mouth. More shyly than Francis had done, Canada let his tongue wander until he knew the shape and wine-like taste of his lover before pulling away to offer a small smile, his cheeks a pretty shade of pink.  
France kissed him again, his hands slowly roaming over the pale body beneath him as he removed the red silk. Every touch increased Mathew’s heart rate, made his breaths come faster; he felt warm despite being mostly naked, and smiled to know it was because of France.  
 _He’s finally mine…_  
The thought made him laugh out of pure joy, and Francis smiled to see him so happy. His hands finished removing the red silk, leaving Canada completely naked except for the gold jewelry, but that could stay. A few pieces of jewelry weren’t going to get in the way of what he intended.  
Lips brushed against Mathew’s collarbone then lower; a moment later they found his right nipple and latched on as France sucked, his tongue rubbing and flicking in a way that drove a loud moan from the younger man.  
“F-Fraaancis…”   
The name was almost a whine, his tone a plea for more, and France was happy to oblige. One of his hands went to Mathew’s neglected nipple and played with it, making the Canadian arch and gasp. His other hand slid up the narrow chest until it found the younger man’s lips.  
“Suck on zhem, _ma beau Mathieu._ ”  
Blushing for millionth time, Canada gripped Francis’ hand in both of his own and began sucking on the Frenchman’s fingers, making sure to wrap his tongue around each digit to coat them in saliva. The man above him purred, biting Mathew’s chest gently.  
“ _Oui…_ like zhat…”  
The obvious approval in his tone encouraged Mathew and he sucked harder, doing his best to please the more experienced nation. After a few moments of this, France gently removed his fingers from the Canadian’s mouth and kissed him instead, gaining access immediately and earning a soft groan as his slicked fingers brushed against Mathew’s quickly forming erection.  
“Spread your legs for me, my love,” he whispered against the younger man’s lips. Canada nodded and did as he was told, leaning up to kiss and nip at Francis’ neck. The older nation moaned quietly, slipping his hand between Mathew’s parted thighs and beneath him. His still-wet fingers quickly located the Canadian’s entrance and began to stroke it, making him squirm.  
“Ah…F-Francis…that feels s-strange…”  
“I know, my love. I promise it will feel good soon.”  
Mathew nodded, looking up at the older nation with trust and adoration in his blue-violet eyes. “I believe you.”  
They kissed again, France’s fingers still rubbing as his other hand wrapped around the Canadian’s member; a moan escaped Mathew as he lifted his hips, wordlessly begging for more. Indulgingly, Francis began to slowly move his hand on the younger man, kissing his neck as Canada shuddered and groaned; the younger’s fingers tangled themselves in France’s blond locks.  
When he thought he was ready, France carefully inserted one of his slick fingers into Mathew’s entrance, his hand still moving on the Canadian’s member to help distract him from any pain or discomfort he was likely to experience.  
“Nng!” Eyes widening, Mathew arched at the feeling and whimpered. It was strange and painful but felt good at the same time, and everything else that was being done to him felt good and—  
“ _Mon Dieu, François! Ne vous arrêtez pas!_ "  
The Frenchman had kissed down Mathew’s chest and was currently sucking on his hardened member, his tongue rubbing and flicking and doing things Canada had never thought were possible. He was so distracted by the heat of France’s mouth that he almost didn’t notice when a second finger was pushed into him. The pain increased for only a moment before fading into nearly nothing, and he found himself moving his hips in an attempt to force the fingers deeper and drive himself farther into France’s mouth at the same time.  
“P-please, Francis!”  
His stomach felt strange, like it was tightening, and little bolts of pleasure were shooting up and down his spine at every pump of Francis’ fingers, every flick of his tongue. It was almost too much to bear; he felt like he was going to burst right out of his skin.  
“Please, what, _ma beau?_ ”  
The fingers inside him spread apart, stretching him.  
“A-ah! M-make love to me! Nng! _S-s'il vous plaît!_ ”  
His please made Francis chuckle quietly. “Not yet, my love. You are not fully prepared yet.”  
Canada whined, tugging at Francis’ hair, his impatience getting the better of him. Immediately, he felt a third finger being slid into him and bucked, a hoarse shout tearing from him. The fingers pumped and twisted, spreading and bending, driving moans, groans and whimpers from the pale nation, until…  
“F- _Francis!_ ” Mathew cried out, throwing his head back in pleasure as his toes curled and his pale body arched off the bed.  
“Found it,” the older nation purred, rubbing his fingers against the spot that had made his lover react so strongly; Canada bucked his hips desperately, that feeling in his stomach growing stronger.  
“P-please, Francis…please…” he begged, his hands gripping the sheets beneath him tightly. “I-I need you i-in me…”  
The words alone were enough to make France moan in longing, and he spread his fingers one last time to make sure Mathew was properly stretched before gently removing the digits. The Canadian fell limp against the mattress, panting heavily as a feeling of loss came over him. Francis kissed him lightly before getting up and removing his pants and boxers, finally freeing his own erection from the restricting clothing. He then opened the drawer of the nightstand by the bed and took out a bottle of lubricant that he kept there. Mathew’s already flushed face darkened farther when he saw what was in his lover’s hand, but he didn’t say anything as the older nation squeezed some of the lube onto his hand then rubbed it onto himself.  
“ _Dépêchez-vous,_ Francis,” the younger nation urged quietly, shifting on the bed.  
“Patience, my love. This is your first time, and I want it to be perfect.” Satisfied that he had used a sufficient amount of lubricant, Francis climbed back onto the bed and once again positioned himself over the younger man, kissing him deeply. Mathew moaned, wrapping his arms around his lover’s neck and lifting his hips to press them against France’s.  
“Take me…”  
With a nod, France gently gripped the younger nation’s waist and lined himself up with his entrance before carefully pushing inside. He bit his lip to hold back a moan as Canada arched and made a sound that was a mixture of pleasure and pain. Several moments passed before Mathew relaxed and nodded, signaling that he was ready for Francis to continue. Slowly at first, the older man rocked his hips against his lover’s, jumbled French mixed with groans falling from his lips at the sensation of Canada’s muscles tightening around his length with every movement.  
“F-faster…”  
“Yes…” His pace increased and he angled his hips in different ways, searching for the spot his fingers had found. He began to kiss and nip Canada’s neck, sucking gently in those places that elicited moans.  
“Ah! T-there! Again!” Mathew’s usually quiet voice was demanding and he bucked his hips against France’s as his nails dug into the older man’s back. It was more pleasure than he could bear and yet not enough, not early enough. He needed more and France was the only one who could give it to him.  
Francis quickly obliged, thrusting harder to force ever louder groans from his lover every time he struck that particular spot. One of his hands found Mathew’s neglected sex and he stroked it, his hand moving at the same speed as his hips so that Canada was gasping and moaning with every breath. He bit one of the sensitive places on the younger man’s neck and sucked roughly, intending to leave a mark so that everyone would know that the Canadian was his.  
“Fr-France… _Francis_ …ah…”  
The sound of his name was erotic and served to arouse the Frenchman even more, causing him to push himself deeper into his lover’s body. He could tell just by the tone of Canada’s voice and the way he was moving that he was getting close.  
Leaving the developing bruise on his lover’s neck, France leaned up and bit the long curl of hair that Mathew always had, tugging on it gently—he knew it would be enough.  
A cry of ecstasy tore from the younger nation, waves of pleasure rolling over him as he released. His nails dragged down Francis’ back and his hips bucked up while the older nation continued to move, letting his young lover ride out his climax. Canada was still in the midst of his orgasm when France reached his own, his lips crashing against Mathew’s in a rough kiss as he thrust deeper than before and released inside him. The nations moved together, lost in each other, unable to tell the difference between their bodies.  
“ _M-Mathieu…Je t'aime…_ ” Francis gasped once their bodies had stilled. He was completely out of breath, as was the other nation, and hadn’t yet worked up the strength to move off the younger man.  
“I love you, too, Francis,” Canada murmured, lifting his head and placing a soft kiss on Francis’ cheek. The older nation smiled then gathered his slowly returning strength and pulled himself from his exhausted lover’s body before lying beside him; he snaked his arms around Mathew’s slim frame and held him close. Mathew nuzzled into Francis’ chest, trying to steady his breathing.  
 _We’re both covered in my semen,_ he realized vaguely, feeling the sticky substance on his stomach as he pressed close to the other man. It was something he’d have been extremely embarrassed about if he hadn’t been so tired. As things were, he found he didn’t much care, since France didn’t seem to mind.  
 _Eh…I’ll clean it up later._  
Minutes passed in near silence as the two nations rested, wrapped in each other’s embrace.  
“Oh…that makes sense…”  
“Hm?” France kissed the top of Mathew’s head. “What was zhat, _mon amour?_ ”  
Mathew blushed, realizing that he’d spoken out loud. “I just realized something.”  
“ _Et_ what might that be?”  
“Well, Alfred called me earlier to see what I was doing today, but I couldn’t talk to him because I was about to get on the plane to come see you. He sounded upset, and I just realized he was probably lonely since England doesn’t like Valentine’s Day.”  
It was quiet for a moment before France started laughing, his entire frame shaking with mirth.  
“What?” Canada pouted, thinking that Francis was laughing at him. “Alfred’s probably really lonely. It isn’t fair that he’s alone on Valentine’s Day, Francis.”  
A few more moments passed before Francis got his laughter under control. “I don’t zhink you need to worry, my love. I’m sure your brozher ‘ad a… _divin…_ Valentine’s Day.”  
The word made Mathew pull away enough to look at his lover’s face, and the smirk he found there made him suspicious. “You did something, didn’t you.”  
“ _Oui._ ” He looked rather proud of himself, and Canada rolled his eyes before snuggling close to him again.  
“I don’t want to know.”  
A hand trailed down his spine to stop at his lower back and pulled him closer; another kiss was placed on the top of his head.  
“Zhat is probably for zhe best.”  
Mathew sighed happily and closed his eyes. “ _Je t'aime,_ Francis,” he whispered, on the verge of falling asleep.  
“ _Je t'aime aussi, mon cher Mathieu._ "  
“Good…” the younger nation mumbled, and then promptly fell asleep, comfortably held against France’s chest. Francis chuckled quietly so as not to wake him, his gaze landing on the hickey he’d given the pale man. That mark was proof that Mathew was finally his, after all these years.  
“You’re mine, Canada,” he whispered, and kissed the slumbering nation’s forehead. “ _Et_ I’m never letting you go.”


End file.
